


A Moment of Grief

by mahbecks



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Chill XV, Explicit Language, Feels, M/M, Mentioned Character Death, Pre-Relationship, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 00:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10865388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahbecks/pseuds/mahbecks
Summary: Gladio shouldn’t have asked. He already knew the answer. And yet he couldn’t stop himself, wanting, no needing to hear the truth from the prince’s lips.He had to know what had happened in the Citadel. He had to know what had happened to the King.What had happened to his own father.But Noctis said nothing, and that was more telling than any words he could have uttered.





	A Moment of Grief

**Author's Note:**

> A look at how Gladio might have handled hearing of Clarus' death.
> 
> If you came here looking for my normal fluffy schmoop, GO FAR AWAY AND DO NOT LOOK BACK. 
> 
> Do not pass go, do not collect $200. 
> 
> Just go.

Gladio had known something was wrong the moment Ignis had stepped into their hotel room at Galdin Quay.

It wasn’t the expression that he had been wearing, or the way he had hadn’t been able to look Noctis in the face as he’d handed him a copy of the paper. It hadn’t been the soft, unusually solemn timbre of his voice.

Instead, it had been… a feeling. A guess, an intuition.

Gladio had just known it, deep in his bones, the truth settling over him like a dark, all-encompassing cloud as soon as he’d caught his friend’s eye.

Insomnia had fallen.

The King was dead.

His _father_ was dead.

At first, it had been easy to push the suffocating grief that threatened to overwhelm him to the side. He had his duty, and that was to keep Noctis safe. He didn’t have time to think about his own problems; Noctis was too busy charging headfirst at his own.

What were his problems, compared to those of the prince of Lucis? Compared to his duties _to_ that prince?

Nothing.

They were nothing.

So he had pulled on his jacket, packed up their gear, and headed out to the car, Noctis’ red-hot anger palpable despite his silence. He had nodded to Ignis as he clambered into the backseat, a silent _we have his back_ and _can’t let him do anything too reckless_ rolled into one. Ignis had returned the gesture after a moment’s hesitation, a peculiar glint in his eye telling Gladio that it wasn’t just Noctis that Ignis was worried about, that he knew Gladio too was suffering.

But Gladio didn’t acknowledge it.

He couldn’t. Not yet.

It was a luxury he couldn’t afford.  

They had raced to the Insomnian border, the prince desperate to return to his city and see what had happened. But the way was blocked, a Niflheim blockade already preventing passage to and from what remained of the once proud capital of Lucis. Instead, they had had to climb a nearby hill in order to get a view of things, taking out several groups of Magitek troops in the process. Gladio had cut through them with practiced ease, wholeheartedly throwing himself into the fighting.  

Fighting was good. It was natural, like a dance, action and reaction and action again.

It meant that he didn’t have to think.

All too soon, they reached the top.

Gladio held himself back for a moment, the bridges to Insomnia just out of view. He wasn’t certain that he wanted to step forward, wasn’t certain of what he would find when he topped that rise. Ashes? A charnal heap? Ruin? He almost didn’t _want_ to see it. He didn’t want to see the city he had called home for all of his life burned to the ground, razed almost out of existence by the brutal might of Niflheim. He didn’t want to have to think of all the people who had been killed, all of his friends, his _family_ -

No, he pushed his fear aside, pushed it back, forced it down, swallowed it along with the lump that built up in his throat. He clenched his fists, stared straight ahead and forced his legs forward.

It was… not what what he expected, smoke and rain obscuring most of the city from view. And yet his throat constricted all the same at the sight of it, at the airships making their way towards the destruction, no doubt to send down droves of Magitek troopers to complete the occupation of the area.

What did they want?

Noctis? The King’s body? The Crystal?

Probably all three. Hell if he knew.

He hadn’t paid attention at a lot of the meetings discussing the deteriorating relations with the Empire. For one thing, Ignis had always taken notes. For another, he had understood the political jargon better than Gladio ever could.

So Gladio had let his mind wander instead, thinking of his next training session, the plot of a novel he’d recently finished, telling himself that he could just ask Ignis about it later.

Now he wished that he’d paid more attention.

Across the way, Ignis was watching him. Gladio could feel his friend’s eyes on his back, even as he dug his phone out of his pocket and tried to contact first his sister, and then Jared, the family butler. It was a weighty stare, a _knowing_ stare.

Gladio didn’t like it.

He liked it even less that he wasn’t able to reach anyone, his calls dropped nearly as soon as he’d dialed the numbers. Frustrated, he shoved the phone back in his pocket, again forcing away thoughts of what might have happened to them. They hadn’t been at the Citadel, he thought, more likely safely ensconced in the Amicitia manor. It was farther out in the city, closer to the wall and the freeways that served as Insomnia's main exits.

Maybe they had escaped. Maybe they had survived.

He clung to that notion, clung to the hope that maybe they had made it out alive. It strengthened him, bolstered his spirits enough that he turned to Noctis. The prince was speaking angrily into the phone at someone, brows drawn down in anger, voice shaking in grief.

Who was it on the other end, he wondered, who was capable of drawing such a reaction from Noctis?

 _Cor,_ he thought, recognizing the cool, stern voice on the other end of the line, loud in the still gloom of the morning. _He survived._

It was a relief, to know that at least one of Gladio’s friends, one of his oldest friends, his mentor even, had survived. One confirmed life. One bit of good news.

The prince made a disgusted noise and jerked the phone away from his ear.

Ignis took a hesitant step forward. “What did the Marshal have to say?” he asked.

Noctis took a moment to reply.

“He said he’s in Hammerhead.”

His voice was strangely composed, neutral, devoid of emotion. Gladio wasn’t sure what to make of that, whether it was a good or a bad sign.

He stepped forward. “And the King?”

He shouldn’t have asked. He already knew the answer. And yet he couldn’t stop himself, wanting, no needing to hear the truth from the prince’s lips.

He needed to know if Regis was dead.

He needed to know if... if _he_ was dead, too.

But Noctis said nothing, and that was more telling than any words he could have uttered.

It was Ignis who suggested that they return to Hammerhead for the night. There was shelter there, and food, and then they could begin to search for the Marshal and decide on a new plan of action. It was the logical move, Gladio knew, and so he didn’t protest when the others began to head back down the hill to the car. He didn’t put up a fight, though a part of him desperately wanted to stay there on that overlook, staring at the city until his eyes ached and the rain stopped.

He wanted to run all of the way to Insomnia, dig his hands into the rubble. He wanted to find anything, _anything,_ that would suggest that he was wrong, that the King and his father _weren’t_ dead, that they were alive, that this was all some misunderstanding, and that everything was going to be alright.

It was childish. Stupid. Naive.

He knew that.

He wanted to do it, just the same.

The drive back to the outpost was silent, no one daring to break the quiet that had settled over all of them. At times, Prompto looked like he wanted to talk, half-turning around in his seat, mouth open. But then he’d catch a glimpse of Noct’s face, his expression would fall, and he would turn round again, slumping down into the chair, defeated.

Gladio didn’t want to talk. He didn’t have anything to say, nor did he trust himself to try, the lump in his throat still hard and unyielding. Instead he stared straight ahead, not quite taking in the scenery as it passed them by.

Every so often, Ignis would meet his eye in the rearview mirror.

Every so often, Gladio pointedly looked away.

Noctis practically leapt out of the car as soon as they arrived, stalking off to the camper on the other side of the parking lot without so much as a second glance. Prompto looked like he wanted to follow, hands twitching at his sides. “Go on,” Ignis murmured encouragingly, stepping out of the driver’s seat. “Talk to him, Prompto. Gladio and I will stay out here for a while.”

Prompto smiled weakly, already heading in that direction. “‘Kay, Iggy,” he said. “Thanks.”

Gladio hadn’t even gotten out of the car when Ignis turned to him, an unspoken question on his face.

It was too much for him to take, the raw sympathy in those blue-green eyes.

“No,” Gladio said, standing. He would ward off this conversation before it began. He hefted his weight over the side of the car, not bothering to use the door, anxious to get away.

“Gladio-”

“ _No._ ”

He didn’t wait to see his friend’s response, walking away to the very edge of the parking lot where the lights were dim and the air was cool. He sat down amongst the large gasoline tanks, his back to the wire fence surrounding this section of the parking lot, staring out at the twilight landscape. It was rude, he knew, storming off like that. Ignis no doubt meant to comfort him, to ask him if he was alright, to offer him a listening ear and a warm shoulder to lean on.

That was what friends did, and he and Ignis were nothing if not the closest of friends. Sometimes it felt like something more, but it wasn’t a thing they had ever pursued. There had rarely been time, and even when there was, they had responsibilities, duties, to the Crown, to -

Gladio snorted, hanging his head.

Noctis.

They had Noctis to care for, Noctis to look after.

Especially Ignis.

Noctis was more than just a job or a responsibility; he was a friend, a very dear friend, one Ignis would give his life for without hesitation. Gladio, too, of course - that was his entire purpose in life. But it was different with Ignis; Ignis wasn’t just a shield, a retainer, a bodyguard, he was… a mentor. A brother. Almost a parental figure. There was a deep, unbreakable bond there that Gladio, close as he was to both of them, would never understand.

Thus, it was _Noctis_ that Ignis should be seeking out right now. It was _Noctis_ who needed the comfort, the companionship. Gladio had no such claim on Ignis. He didn’t have the right to demand such solace from his friend, not when the prince was in such a state.

It didn’t matter, in the end.

Ignis followed him anyways.

He sat down beside Gladio, close enough that their knees bumped as he leaned back against the fence. He said nothing, simply taking his gloves off and folding his hands in his lap. It was almost as if he were waiting for Gladio to speak.

Gladio snorted. He’d be waiting a long time then.

For perhaps a half an hour, the two of them sat there in silence, the sun slowly sinking down past the horizon and true night taking over. One by one, the stars began to appear, twinkling in the night sky with a cold, pale light. Gladio suppressed a shiver, goosebumps breaking out over his skin as the temperature steadily dropped. If he shuffled a little closer to Ignis, warm at his side, neither of them mentioned it.

Eventually, Gladio looked up, resting his head on his knee as he studied his friend. Ignis was looking forward, face relaxed and composed as ever, the sharp angles of his profile thrown into stark relief by the beams of artificial light piercing the shadows among the gasoline tanks.

“You should be with Noct,” Gladio muttered.

Ignis turned towards him. “Prompto is with him,” he replied.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does, actually.” He paused, drawing in a breath and releasing it through his nose. “Do you think I would leave you alone through this, Gladio? You too lost your father-”

“Don’t say it,” Gladio interjected.

Ignis snapped his mouth shut. “My apologies.”

Sudden tears burned at Gladio’s eyes, brought on by the calm, factual tone of Ignis’ voice. Before, no one had actually spoken the truth of the matter aloud. No one had admitted that if the King was dead, his shield was surely dead as well. Now the words hung in the air, given life by Ignis’ voice. They were unintentionally cruel, unyielding, _true._

It wasn’t Ignis’ fault, Gladio knew; he hadn’t meant to hurt Gladio.

And yet that one short, unfinished sentence wrecked him, and he brought a hand up to his face, stubbornly wiping away the evidence of his grief.

The tears only fell harder as a result.

He did his best to hide them, though he feared he was doing a piss poor job of it. The shaking of his shoulders gave him away, as did the deep, rattling breaths he took to try and calm himself down.

A warm hand fell on his back, rubbing small circles into the muscles between his shoulder blades. Gladio started at the first touch, not expecting it. But then he relaxed into it, letting Ignis draw a little closer to him, letting him put his other hand on Gladio’s knee. The touches were light, gentle; Gladio could have drawn away if he wanted to do so.

He didn’t.

He _didn’t._

After a while, the tears stopped falling. Gladio sniffed, letting the hand he’d been keeping over his eyes fall down to his lap. His whole face hurt, cheeks aching and puffy, eyes red and dry. Gods, he needed to sleep. And a shower. And probably some food. Maybe then he’d feel better.

But this was good too - just sitting here, Ignis half-wrapped around him, warm and firm and unyieldingly there. Gladio found that he didn’t want to move, that if anything, he wanted to press in closer, to hold his friend tight and not let him go. It was a new desire, something different, more intimate than anything he’d imagined before, even with the flirtatious banter they’d maintained through the years. Perhaps it was a sign that something had changed between them, a sign of something stronger than mere friendship.

He didn’t know. And now hardly seemed like the time to find out.

Noctis needed them. He needed Ignis, and he needed Gladio.

Anything else, anything other than keeping him safe and finding Cor and retaking the kingdom, seemed secondary at the moment. Even if, as he turned towards his friend, he wanted nothing more than to pursue those fleeting, hopeful thoughts of something more.

“Do you know the last thing I said to him?” Gladio asked. His voice sounded thick to his ears. Weak.

He hated it.

“No,” Ignis replied. “What did you say?”

“Iris was upset that she wasn’t allowed to come with me. She wanted to go, she said, she wanted to help Noctis get to Altissia, too. Dad was in a bad mood already, something to do with the King, and Niflheim, and… I don’t know what else. I didn’t ask. But I was in the room and she dragged me into it, asked me if I cared if she went with us.”

Gladio paused, the memory coming to his mind unbidden. Iris, little hands in fists at her sides, full of righteous indignation. His father, sitting at the kitchen table, head in his hands, looking older than Gladio had ever seen him.

“I said I didn’t, she knew that, I’d always take her with me. But I didn’t… she wasn’t actually gonna go with us, yeah? I knew that. No way was Dad gonna let her go. She’s only fifteen.

“Dad stood up then. I’d never seen him look so angry. He told Iris to go to her room, told her that she wasn’t going, and that was that. She didn’t like that. She stomped off, slammed the door behind her, turned the radio on real loud.

“Then…” He trailed off, finding it hard to say what had happened, even to Ignis.

“Yes?”

“He turned to me, said I wasn’t taking things serious enough. He said that this wasn’t just a road trip, that this was Noctis’ life, his duty, and I shouldn’t trivialize it. But I wasn’t, Iggy, I wasn’t, and I just…” He shook his head. “I got so mad. I started yelling back at him, stupid things, dumb shit, and gods, I just… it was all so fucking stupid, you know? And now he’s… he’s dead, and I can’t take it back. The last thing I ever said to him was that he was being a fucking asshole, and now I can’t even _apologize_ for it.”

He felt like punching something, anger and grief mingling to form some darker, harsher emotion whose name he didn’t know. Had Ignis not been there, he probably would have run off into the darkness, looking for some daemon to kill, some monster to slay. Channel the anger into something more productive.

But Ignis _was_ there, and so he sat still, letting his friend rub his back until the rage had faded away, leaving a dull, hollow ache in its place.

“Why are you doing that?” Gladio asked suddenly. 

"Hmm?"

"Touching me like that."

The hand on his back stilled. “Do you wish me to stop?” Ignis asked.

“I - no.” Not when it was the only thing keeping him grounded right now, the only thing keeping him from running out of Hammerhead like a fucking lunatic with a death wish. “Sorry. It’s… good.”

Ignis’ hand resumed its slow, circular motion, and after a brief moment of silence, he spoke again.

“I must admit, I don’t know what it’s like,” he mused.

“What what’s like?”

“Losing a parent,” Ignis clarified.

Gladio stiffened, and then relaxed. He would have to get used to this now, he knew, have to get used to the idea that his father had died at the King’s side. He had to learn how to talk about it. He had to learn to not let it affect him.

“But both of your parents are-”

“Yes,” Ignis agreed, “They are dead. But I never knew them, Gladio, at least not in my conscious memory. I only heard the news of their village’s destruction in a report. You cannot truly grieve something you don’t know.” He looked over at Gladio then, reached up and brushed some stray strands of hair from where they had fallen into Gladio’s face. “I cannot imagine what it feels like.”

“Shit,” Gladio replied. “It feels like shit.”

Ignis smiled faintly at that, his hand falling back down to Gladio’s knee.

“It… hurts,” Gladio continued. “Like when it’s cold outside and you aren’t wearing the right clothes. Your hands and feet go numb, and you don’t feel anything. But then you go inside and they ache for hours. It’s like that, I think.” He shook his head, the stubborn locks of hair from earlier falling back down. “I don’t want to think about it too much. I _can’t,_ or I’ll…”

“Let yourself be distracted from your duties?” Ignis guessed. Gladio nodded, and Ignis hummed thoughtfully. “I disagree. No, listen to me.”

Gladio bit down on the retort he’d been about to make, waiting for his friend to continue.

“You can’t bottle things up inside and pretend that they haven’t happened, Gladio. It’s not healthy. You’re allowed to grieve when you’ve lost something dear to you. To grieve is natural, it’s human.”

Gladio rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk about keepin’ things bottled up inside, Iggy.”

“And every time I try to keep such unnecessary, harmful feelings to myself, _someone_ comes up to me and tells me that I’m being an idiot about it,” Ignis retorted. “Who might that be, I wonder?”   

“...me.”

“Yes, _you_.”  

Gladio shook his head, even as he began to see the truth in Ignis' words. “C’mon, Iggy, it’s not the same.”

“It is.”

“It-”

“It _is.”_ Ignis paused, studying Gladio for a moment. “What do you think Noctis is doing right now?”

The question caught Gladio off guard. “I dunno,” he said, “probably…”

“He’s grieving, in his own way,” Ignis replied. He tilted his head. “And should he feel bad for that?”

“Hell no, he shouldn’t-”

“Then why should you not grieve your father?”

Gladio’s mouth was a thin line, lips drawn tight over his teeth.

“If Noctis can mourn the King, you can mourn Clarus. His loss does not lessen yours.”

Gladio knew that. He _knew_ that. Ignis was right, gods damn him, he was. 

He hung his head, defeated, finally acknowledging the point, a weak sigh passing through his lips. 

"Take a moment, Gladio. Take it. You are allowed this. Tomorrow is a new day."

Gladio looked up, frowning, and Ignis raised a curious brow. “Why do you always know what to say?” he demanded. 

“It’s a talent I’ve acquired over the years,” Ignis admitted. Then he squeezed Gladio's knee, one corner of his mouth curving upwards into a smirk. “That, and you’re utterly transparent.”

Gladio snorted. “Only to you,” he muttered.

“Perhaps.”

It was getting late, the moon too beginning to rise and take its place among the stars.

Reluctantly, Gladio pulled away, pushing himself to his feet and then extending a hand down to Ignis. He felt strangely tired, weary, as if he'd just run a long distance in a short amount of time. A side effect of crying, he guessed. But it had been cathartic. He realized that now. It had been necessary. The pain was still there, yes, but it was muted, duller. It was in no small part due to his friend’s presence. Gladio knew he should thank Ignis, tell him how grateful he was, how much he appreciated it that he had come and sat with him, that Ignis had just held him as he’d cried.

He didn’t.

He couldn’t.

There were no words.

But he didn’t need to, he found, the look in Ignis’ eyes confirmation enough that Ignis knew of his gratitude, as was the way Ignis twined their still-linked hands together, gently squeezing his palm.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Starving,” Gladio admitted.

“Then, come. Let’s get something to eat.” Ignis smiled at him. “And then we’ll go and see how Prompto is faring with Noctis.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

They started walking towards Takka’s diner, footsteps quiet and even on the concrete.

Ignis didn’t let go of his hand.

“Hey, Iggy?”

“Yes?”

“I wanna go back someday. Find out what really happened, see if we can find… if we can find his body. We should bury him. Him and the King both.”

Ignis nodded. “I’ll help you,” he said, “if you wish it.”

“I do.”

“Perhaps Noctis will want to come as well,” Ignis suggested. “We might ask him about it later. Not tonight, I think. Sometime down the road, when the grief is not so near.”

“Yeah. I’d like that. Prompto, too - can’t leave the kid out.”

Ignis smiled, and Gladio felt a little warmer inside for it. “Of course not,” he replied. “We’re all in this together. We’ll leave no one behind.”

This time, it was Gladio who squeezed Ignis’ hand. “Never.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'M SORRY FOR THIS ANGST I DON'T KNOW WHERE IT CAME FROM
> 
> On a side note, this is a scene I've wanted to write out for ages now. It always seemed weird to me in game that there's so much emphasis put on the death of Regis and how Noctis deals with it, and that when it then came to Clarus and Gladio and Iris, there was... nothing. Zilch. I mean, I know the game is supposed to be entirely from Noctis' point of view, so I guess the absence makes sense, but I dunno. I, personally, head canon that Clarus and Gladio had a pretty good relationship (though butting heads at times, of course), and so it seems odd to me that there's nothing on how Gladio deals with his dad's death. 
> 
> Hence... this pile of goo, to put in what Square Enix left out. Because Gladdy lost his daddy too.
> 
> I at least tried to make it a *little* fluffy towards the end? So it's not a total angst bomb? 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated :)


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